Things were feeling normal again. There was great comfort in sitting on the couch, eating a TV dinner, and watching television. Her father liked to watch sports, and Irene just liked to watch him. His defenses came down, and there were times he was like an oversized child, which was endearing. The way he clapped his hands in delight when his team scored, or the small tantrums he threw when the referee made a call he disagreed with. Yet he was never so engrossed that he'd stop her from chatting with him during a game. It was often their bonding time.

However, there was an undercurrent of tension as they sat and watched. Irene was silent, turning events over in her mind. What was Cyrus thinking, masquerading as a tutor? And how did she get home? What happened to Cyrus? Why, if Gabriel already had Cyrus, did he kidnap her and anyone who looked like her? Irene wanted to know, but was afraid the more she learned, the further away she'd be driven from having a normal life.

During a lull in the game Irene finally voiced her decision. "I think I am ready to talk to the police."

Mr. Locklyn looked up from the game, seeming a bit surprised at first, but then he smiled. "We'll go tomorrow." Irene nodded and continued eating, not wanting to say much more on the matter.

Once her meal was done, Irene grabbed a bag she'd left beside the couch, taking out a library book. She glanced up at her father, who was engrossed in his game. Satisfied, she opened the book, and out slipped the card and the flowers. She studied the flowers, and began flipping through the pages of a botany book..

As she suspected, the one flower was an iris. It took Irene some time to identify the other flower as Aconite, or Wolfsbane. This made Irene pause. Wolfsbane was poisonous. Irene set the book down and grabbed another, glancing up when her father let out a cheer. He looked over at her, and she quickly tucked the card and flowers back into the book.

"What's that, kiddo? Thinking of taking up gardening?" her father asked.

"No, just reading for my own edification," Irene responded. He gave her a side-glance, somewhat perplexed, but his attention was quickly ensnared by the game. He hollered at the players on the screen. Meanwhile, Irene swapped out her book for another: "The Language of Flowers".

Irene now had the missing pieces. Irene eagerly looked at the information on the iris flower. She already knew it was named for the Greek Goddess of the rainbow and had connections to the tie between mortality and the afterlife. But the poem pointed her away from mythology and more to the message it was used to convey. The Iris simply meant a message, which seemed redundant to her. A lot of the entry focused on the use of it in blazonry, particularly of the French nobility. Gabriel's slight accent came to her mind. The way he said his R's was reminiscent of a French accent, but it was too watered-down to really tell.

Irene sighed and went searching for wolfsbane. There was no entry. Irene snapped the book shut in frustration. This is probably just another one of his games. Irene snorted and watched the tiny men on the screen exchange the puck a few times. Her curiosity overturned her frustration and she opened the book again, looking up aconite instead. To her satisfaction, there was a listing.

Misanthropy. Beware. An enemy is near.

Irene looked back at the card. Only now she realized the word Angel was capitalized. Angel. One of the most famous angels in Christian lore leapt to her mind. Gabriel.

Just as she was trying to form thoughts on what this could mean for her, the doorbell rang, startling her. Her father, who didn't notice her reaction, leaned forward, about to get up, but then he shrugged and leaned back. "I'm sure it's nothing important." He said. But after a moment, he thought. "I wonder if it's Girl Guides? I could go for cookies. They usually sell the mint ones this time of year."

Irene had gone back to staring at the card when she heard her father's booming voice. "You have some nerve coming back here!"

Uh oh. Irene sprung to her feet.

"I know you aren't a tutor! If you come near my daughter again, you will have to answer to me!" Irene walked up behind her father, peering past him. Sure enough, illuminated by the flickering porch light was Cyrus. He was wearing an olive green polo shirt, a brown coat, and khakis. Her father was right. He looked like he was trying too hard to cultivate a conservative, intellectual look. The worst part were the spectacles with thick, black, square frames, which did not flatter his large eyes. Cyrus stood, mouth agape. Then his gaze shifted beyond Mr. Locklyn to Irene. She crossed her arms, glaring at him. He returned her glare for a brief moment, looking accusatory at her. She just arched an eyebrow. Then he took a step back, bringing his hands up in a placating manner.

"Mr. Locklyn, please, I'm sure there's been some misunderstanding here." Cyrus said, keeping his hands up, eyebrows raised. His hair, which usually had bangs falling into his face, had been combed back, exposing a widow's peak that made him look older.

Irene's father thrust a thick finger at Cyrus accusingly. "There's no misunderstanding. Who do you think you are, sending a teenage girl love letters?"

"What, my card? That wasn't a love letter, I assure you. You've got it all wrong. That-"

"Oh and that poem you slipped in?"

"Just my sense of humour," Cyrus responded, laughing sheepishly. It was unlike the unfettered chortles or mocking chuckles she'd heard from him before. Irene was surprised at Cyrus's behaviour. She'd always feared an encounter between him and her father would end in violence. But Cyrus was behaving like any cowed suitor when confronted by a protective father. "If you'd please let me explain..."

"I don't want to hear anything from you. I'm going to count to ten, and if you don't leave my property, Irene will call the police, and if you still don't leave, she'll be needing to call an ambulance too." Mr. Locklyn cracked his knuckles. While her father was not necessarily imposing, he easily had some considerable height on this particular vampire. Irene felt anxious, but also hopeful. Cyrus was giving ground to her father. This reinforced the idea that Cyrus was a coward and a bully, quick to drop his pretense of ferocity the moment he wasn't up against someone weaker. But... she'd felt his strength. It was inhuman, and surely, her father couldn't match it either. So why was he backing off? Had he been weakened somehow? She watched Cyrus take a few steps back, palms still out. But then he stopped and a look of defiance flashed in his face. Irene's father took a step farther, warning him to continue his retreat.

"Ten..."

"I am only here to help..."

"Nine..."

"I don't know what she's told you, but..."

"Eight..."

Cyrus's frown deepened, and she saw just the briefest twitch of a snarl on his lips, before he turned it into a smile. Cyrus took off his prop glasses and slipped them into his breast pocket. "Your daughter is in danger." Her father took another lunging step forward.

"Not anymore! I'll protect my daughter at any cost!" Her father said ferociously. "Seven!" He barked.

"Oh yes, you've done a bang-up job of protecting her thus far. Where were you when she needed- urk!"

To Irene's horror, her father grabbed Cyrus by the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground. Irene could never move him, and here her father was, in the process of throwing him down. Cyrus landed on the dirt path leading to their porch with a thump. He looked up, legs splayed and hands in the mud to steady himself. He glanced at Irene a moment from his prone position, and Irene shook her head pleadingly. He then looked up at her father, no longer hiding the snarl on his lips. "You leave me no choice."

"Cyrus, don't!" Cyrus was quickly on his feet, and had her father's shirt in his fist, forcing her father to bend down to his eye level. He stared intensely at her father, and Irene was terrified he was going to bite him. She rushed out. "Please!"

Cyrus's other hand easily caught Irene, keeping her at an arm's length as he continued to stare at her father with an eerie intensity. Her father's gaze was locked on him, no more words passing his lips. She looked at her father for signs of pain, but instead his eyes appeared glazed, glassy, and compliant. "As I said, it's all a misunderstanding." Her father continued not to react, and Cyrus kept unwavering eye contact. "It's understandable, my actions could easily have been misinterpreted." Irene shook her head, glaring at Cyrus. No, his actions were QUITE clear to her. "But your daughter saved me, and it's only natural I should want to return the favour. Your daughter was very unwell one night, and I brought her home. In her feverish state, she became very paranoid and refused my further help." Cyrus wove this alternate story, and she could see her father becoming more and more calm. Cyrus eased his grip on Mr. Locklyn, who straightened up.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I... I see." For the first time since the exchange, her father blinked and his brow furrowed. "But she wasn't mistaken about you being in some sort of gang or cult?" Again, his hackles were rising. Cyrus briefly narrowed his eyes, but kept staring at her father.

"No. And yes, I lied about the tutor thing." Cyrus smiled and gave a small shrug. "Mia culpa. But I didn't want to alarm you. Nonetheless, Irene is in danger. And I have been trying to protect her, and I can only do that if I can remain close by." Irene scowled. He was not going to worm his way back into her life. Irene looked at her father, expecting him to see through Cyrus's charade. But her father looked dull and compliant.

"That makes... sense..." Mr. Locklyn said, but he sounded uncertain. Again he blinked and his eyes seemed to come back into focus. "If you really wanted to protect her, you would go to the authorities, turn yourself in, and hand over evidence about whoever is threatening my daughter!" Her father swung out his hand, gesturing vaguely off into the distance. Cyrus hissed, but then quickly smoothed out the wrinkles forming on his brow, trying to maintain calm. Her father had broken eye contact, and this clearly vexed Cyrus. He thrust up a hand, grabbing Mr. Locklyn's chin, forcing him to stare the vampire in the eyes.

"Stop it!" Irene demanded. What else could she do? She wasn't sure exactly what Cyrus was doing, but he was doing something to her father. Something that her father was having some internal struggle against. Irene reflected back to the times when she had felt paralyzed and unable to resist Cyrus for brief moments. Cyrus ignored Irene, keeping her back with his other arm still, and his gaze focused on her father.

"The authorities can not help. My... gang, sure, let's call it a gang. Why not? That gang has contacts in the RCMP. Contacting them would put everyone in danger." Cyrus released his grip on her father, but not his hold on his mind. Irene began clawing at Cyrus' wrist to no avail. "You need me. From now on, I will be a boarder at your house. That is the new narrative. You will trust me."

"I... yes. You're my... boarder. I trust you," her father finally relented to whatever power Cyrus was exerting over him. Irene's eyes swelled up with tears. Her father was supposed to protect her, not side with the source of her recent woes. "Thank you, for looking after my daughter in my absence."

Cyrus grinned one of his horrible grins. Irene didn't know what came over her. Ferociously, she sank her teeth into Cyrus' hand. For this first time, she got a reaction from him, feeling him jump and pull away. He looked at her, appearing as surprised as she felt herself. After a moment, he laughed. "Well I guess what goes around comes around," Cyrus responded. Irene then began to tug at her father's arm.

"Father, snap out of it! Cyrus is NOT to be trusted!" Irene insisted desperately.

Her father turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Irene, I know you think I'm making a mistake. When you get older and have a family yourself, you'll understand. We have to trust him, for both our sakes." If he had just blankly told her that he trusted Cyrus in a monotone voice, it would have given her more will to fight. But the fact he now looked lucid, and the way he spoke was entirely like him, it broke her heart. Whatever Cyrus had done, it had moved past whatever barrier he'd been putting up, and nestled itself into his core. Irene pulled away from her father, and ran inside. Just before she closed the door, she heard Cyrus ask how much rent her father wanted, as if everything were perfectly normal and benign. Irene slammed the door and ran to her room.

Irene wasn't in her room long when she heard a tapping at the door. Hesitantly, she called out, "Come in." To her relief, it was her father's head that poked in. Irene sat up, hugging Silver who had been laying beside her, purring.

"Hey, kiddo. I'm just checking on you before heading to bed. I've got a sudden headache." He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Are you really letting Cyrus stay here?" Irene asked. He sighed.

"Yes, Irene. It's for the best. The company is a stone's throw from bankruptcy and I could use the extra income."

Irene looked down, just focusing on the vibrations from her beloved pet. "You never told me it was that bad."

"I didn't want you to worry. I am sorry, though, that I haven't been here for you. I've just been trying to be a good provider." Her father began rubbing his eyes again, his fingers going to his temples.

"I understand. Get some rest, Dad." Meekly, he nodded and her door shut with a nearly inaudible click. Irene continued petting Silver, who began to knead her thigh with her tiny paws.

"You're still on my side, aren't you?" In response, the gray tabby lifted her tail, crooking it at the very tip and headbutted Irene in the stomach. "Aw... thank you." Irene doted on her furry friend with pets.

Abruptly, that crooked tail straightened out and the fur became raised. Silver turned around in Irene's lap, her thigh stinging as Silver dug in her claws to maintain balance. The little cat hissed at the door. With this sudden change in demeanour, it didn't surprise Irene when the door swung open, and Cyrus stepped in.

"Get out of my room," Irene said immediately, hardly looking at him as she worked on smoothing Silver's tail. Silver's ears swiveled back and she crouched on Irene's lap, letting out a throaty growl. Cyrus made no response, and she heard a few heavy steps as he lumbered further into her room. She looked up again, and he plopped down beside her on her bed. The cat hissed and scratched Cyrus' hand, which he had placed down on the edge of the bed beside Irene. "Silver!"

In the pale moonlight that streamed in through her window, she only briefly got a glimpse of Cyrus's face before she realized the danger. The dark circles, the gauntness. He'd been fine moments ago, what happened? Before Irene could react, he had grabbed her cat by the scuff of the neck and was holding the cat inches from his face. The cat continued to hiss and squirm, trying to get free. He bared his fangs. "Cyrus stop! Don't you DARE eat my cat!"

"I need blood..." Cyrus said between clenched teeth. Irene grabbed for Silver, but he moved her out of Irene's reach. The cat yowled and swore at this indignation. "Choose. Cat... father, or..." he trailed off, shaking his head, struggling to speak. "I'm too weak... hunt." Irene stood up. What could she do? While he wasn't quite in the frenzied state she'd witnessed in Gabriel's den, he was not playing the fool now.

"Leave my father out of this!" This was a plea as much as it was a demand.

"Choose!" Cyrus growled. Silver managed to finally slip out of Cyrus grasp and she hit the ground running. Cyrus just fell onto his side, laying his head on her pillow. Irene did not understand what was happening, just that she needed to do something. "Need..."

"Go to hell," Irene said, turning away.

Cyrus propped his head up briefly, fixing her with an intense stare. "If you don't... hell... will come... here." He then let his head drop again into the pillow, closing his eyes.

Irene drew in a breath, shaking. She could not subject her father to this. Irene trembled, hating what she was about to do. She knelt down beside Cyrus, pulling her hair to one side and exposing her neck. "Then bite me."

Cyrus opened one eye and peered at her. "You'll die. Too soon... since... last..." Cyrus closed his eyes again, turning away from her. "GO!"

----------------------------------------

Irene shivered, rubbing her hands together. Her heart was racing, and she felt sick to her stomach with what she was about to do. She paced outside of a nearby motel. Irene turned, about to walk away. What she was about to do was wrong; Irene wondered if perhaps she ought to kill Cyrus while he was weak. But how? She didn't know what would or wouldn't work, and if she failed, there'd be no coming back.

What Irene had been waiting for arrived. She heard him long before she saw him. A warbling, uncertain voice, soaring to high pitches of song, and then sputtering into sobs. Irene watched as the disheveled, pot-bellied man ambled into the parking lot, his sandy beard and curly hair giving him a wild appearance. Most people in her neighbourhood called him Sobbin' Robin. Irene often avoided him, as he lamented the same hardships over and over without trying to fix them. For the first time, Irene felt genuine compassion for him.

"Robin?" Irene called. He lifted his head, mid-verse and looked around. It took a while for his puffy eyes to find her. Not recognizing her, he looked around as if expecting there to be someone else named Robin. He then looked back at Irene, one bushy eyebrow lifting as he gestured to himself, mouthing 'me?'. Irene nodded, beckoning him.

"Whah... wha'can I, urf, d'you for, young lady?" The drunk swayed on his feet, trying to give her polite attention.

"Would you like a warm meal?" Irene asked, her voice trembling. The man looked at her, giving her a measured assessment, albeit several times having to blink, squint and wipe at his eyes.

"Well. Tha's kindness, li'l bird, buh... ah... I got all'er warmth I need, right here," Robin said, holding up his bottle of vodka. He then took a swig to demonstrate his point. When he pulled the bottle away, he sighed, forlorn. "Is th'only warmth I feel now, sin' she left."

Irene wasn't sure what to do. She thought for sure the promise of a hot meal would have been irresistible. How was she going to lure him away now? He took another swig, about to turn away, but then pulled the bottle away, staring at it. He gave it a one eye squint, then turned it upside down. Nothing but a sorry dribble dripped out. Irene looked up. "Are you sure?"

"Well I..." He stumbled over his own feet, barely catching himself. He let out a belch, and it was all Irene could do to not wrinkle her nose in disgust as his smell reached her. "Well, it woo'n be 'propriate, young lady. Hey. Hey. What're you doin' out this late?"

"I can't sleep. There's a lot weighing on my conscience," Irene answered truthfully. The man nodded, lifting up a single finger as he continued to bob his head.

"Ah, yeah... yeah... I know that. I know that, urp, well." He brought the bottle to his lips again, only to remember it had no succor for him. He let out a nasally whimper and dropped the bottle. Irene jumped at the sound of the glass shattering, looking around alertly lest someone come out and see what the noise was. Irene's guilty conscience would not let her forget that she did not belong there. Surely, anyone else would see her as suspicious. She ought to be. She was up to nothing good.

No one came. The man began sobbing. Irene's lip curled in contempt. Not at the man's uninsulated display of emotion, but at her own scheme. She walked over to the man, holding her breath so as not to gag, and wrapped an arm about him. He continued sobbing, muttering half sentences about the family that had left him. She rubbed his back soothingly, and in his despair, he was easy to herd. Slowly, she guided him towards her home. There was no going back after this.